“Ole voodoo doctah, sah, an’ a right clevah old colored pusson, sah.”
“Voodoo doctor, eh? Witch charmer? Dealer in spells and all that sort of rubbish, eh?” questioned Henry Tremaine, sharply. “Ham, do you think I believe in any such truck as that? Uncle Tobey, eh? Humph!”
“But Uncle Tobey done chahm dat ghos’ away from some odder folks—Ah done heah dat much down at Tres Arbores,” asserted Ham, solemnly.
“From folks that came up here to the lake?” asked Tremaine, sharply.
“Yassuh. From folks that done hab a house down at de wes’ side ob de lake.”
“Those people paid Uncle Tobey for a spell, and were troubled no more by the ghost?”
“Dat’s a fac’, sah, w’ut Ah’m tellin’ yo’,” Ham asserted, solemnly.
“Hm!” mused Henry Tremaine, a shrewd look coming into his eyes.
The colored steward soon afterward went back into the kitchen to eat his own breakfast. The white folks of the party remained in the living-room talking over the puzzling happenings of the night.
Presently Ham came back into the room as though moving on springs. On his face there was a look of vast importance.